


Closer

by rchimedes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, feelings are complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rchimedes/pseuds/rchimedes
Summary: Byleth liked Linhardt. He enjoyed having Linhardt around, he felt exhilarated when he could have the other close by. He wasn’t very good at putting a name or definition to many of his feelings or thoughts, but he knew that much about how he felt about Linhardt.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [featherx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherx/gifts).



> THANK YOUUUU neale for requesting me to write byhardt / linleth!! it means the world to me that you trusted me with your favorite ship so i hope this came out to your liking. i love you so much and i would fight god for you T__T ♥

For as long as Byleth could remember, most of his life was spent taking care of himself.

This isn’t to say his father his incompetent by any means — Jeralt might be clumsy, struggle with communication, and not know how to cook for a damn, but he’s a good father. He cares, and he does his best within his abilities and what he has, albeit he was often met with criticism with how often Byleth was left alone at home due to Jeralt’s work keeping him away about half the year. 

That’s common sense when your family is involved in the army.

When he was younger, people often worried and hovered over Byleth, asking if he was alright, if he missed his father, if he felt abandoned — but he never did. Byleth had always been the type to enjoy his time alone, and he was a child that was smarter than most, knowing that what Jeralt did wasn’t out of hate for his own child.

_ “Jeralt is just doing his best. I trust him.” _ — is what Byleth would always say when asked, which sometimes only carved concern deeper into people’s minds when a child didn’t even refer to their parent as ‘dad’ or ‘father’.

Jeralt didn’t often use his name either, so it’s not as if it was strange to him.

Every family had its own dynamic, however boring or strange.

Because Jeralt wasn’t home very often, by technicality, Byleth doesn’t  _ really  _ live alone in his apartment but he doesn’t live with someone either. It’s that in between that is neither here nor there.

(Sometimes, it’s a pretty handy situation. As of late, Byleth has been thinking that more often.)

With his keys jingling noisily as he fiddles for the house key on his lanyard, Byleth unlocks the door to his apartment, opening it with a small sigh through his nose. He had to work a few hours over to help Seteth with some papers and organizing files — which he didn’t mind, as it was on the list of things expected of a teacher’s assistant, but it certainly doesn’t make him want to spend anymore time being up walking around.

“Welcome home.”

The unexpected voice makes Byleth come to a half after he takes two steps into his apartment. Lounged out on the couch and idly eating away from a plate of cookies sitting on the coffee table is a young man with long hair to the middle of his back and tied up into a messy half up-do, with sleepy moss green eyes gazing at Byleth intently as the other finally gather enough of his thoughts to close the door behind him.

“How long have you been here, Linhardt?” Byleth asks once the door clicks into place, locking the door before hanging his lanyard on a hook on the back of the door.

He isn’t concerned about leaving it unlocked for Linhardt when he wants to leave, because he’s well aware that Linhardt didn’t come in through the door anyway. Though they lived on the second floor of an apartment complex, it wasn’t a particularly lavished building, and their balconies happened to be close enough to each other that you could easily climb onto the neighbor’s balcony and let yourself in through the sliding glass door.

This became useful when Byleth had lost his keys, and his cellphone was inside his apartment. He was lucky enough to remember the small detail that their balcony door was never locked, and it was  _ obnoxiously  _ close to his neighbor’s balcony.

Up until that point, Byleth didn’t really know anything about his neighbors. He knew they were a pair of college students a few years younger than him, and one of them was particularly clumsy and noisy who always woke Byleth up at 6:30 every Saturday morning as they prepared for their weekly run. 

Of all the ways to have a first, formal meeting with someone, that had to be strange — even to Byleth it was, and he had dealt with his fair share of odd things in his life. In retrospect, he supposes that Linhardt took to him  _ because  _ the ordeal was so strange.

“Almost two hours,” Linhardt answers matter of factly. “I didn’t think you’d be back so late, so I helped myself to these cookies while waiting for you to come home.”

Byleth stares at the plate as he walks up to the coffee table. He glances towards the kitchen, then says, “Those are the ones Flayn ruined. They’re undercooked.”

Lindhardt pauses right before he takes another bite of the cookie he’s holding, staring at it pensively. “Huh. That explains why they tasted a little off.”

And yet, a good third of it is gone anyway.

“Oh well.” Linhardt finishes the cookie anyway.

Byleth scoffs in amusement. “So why were you waiting for me?”

“Caspar is gone for a few days with Ashe on some hiking venture. They invited me, but I said no.” 

Which is expected of him, because physical labor in any capacity just wasn’t his thing and he had a serious issue with something that was teetering on  **_narcolepsy_ ** sometimes, Byleth swore. Well — okay, that was sort of wrong. There was some physical labor he didn’t mind, and it’s something that bubbles up in the back of Byleth’s mind considering the reason why Linhardt would usually be willing to wait for him so long.

“Feeling lonely?” Byleth asks, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips. 

“Maybe.” Linhardt sits up from the couch, resting an elbow on a knee, chin resting in the palm of a hand. His hair falls over one of his shoulders in a way that looks all too intentional, and he gives a smile that is far more teasing and playful in the most subtle of ways, lazy and content like a cat that knows it will get its way inevitably. “Do you suddenly mind my company?”

Byleth shakes his head.

While he certainly didn’t feel neglected due to Jeralt being away often, no one was impervious to the concept of loneliness. Every human needed some level of company and interaction.

Linhardt was a creature much like him, who was fine with being by himself and seemed to be a strange sort of individual, but at the end of the day he was still very much human. He craved some sort of company, some sort of intimacy — which, for them, had become physical intimacy.

Thus, a sort of routine had been forced between them in recent months. Every two weeks or so, one of them would pull the other close, away from prying eyes, away from the world so it was just the two of them. Neither of them considered it anything above a ‘friends with benefits’ situation, and if they did, they certainly hadn’t put a name to it yet.

Byleth  _ liked  _ Linhardt. He enjoyed having Linhardt around, he felt exhilarated when he could have the other close by. He wasn’t very good at putting a name or definition to many of his feelings or thoughts, but he knew that much about how he felt about Linhardt.

“Are  **_you_ ** feeling lonely, Byleth?” Linhardt asks to break the silence and Byleth’s thoughts.

Byleth looks at Linhardt.

Linhardt gazes up at him with faux-innocence and slow, practiced fluttering of his thick lashes he can so easily play off as his usual sleepiness.

Byleth considers his reply, walking around the table to stand next to Linhardt. Resting a hand on the back of the couch, the other carefully cupping the other man’s face and leans down until their noses are almost touching. “No. You’re right here, aren’t you?”

Linhardt smiles — slyly, Byleth notes. “That’s true, huh?”

Their lips meet in a kiss as Byleth’s body lowers, and moving together with an admirable amount of grace they wouldn’t show in any other situation, their bodies meld together to fit perfectly against each other on the couch. Legs tangle, fabric grinds against one another in a search for friction, and hot breath mingles in between what little space they give to get a gasp for air. 

Byleth slides a hand inside Linhardt’s sweatpants, pausing when he realizes the other is definitely not wearing any underwear.

Linhardt laughs airily in his ear. “I just thought it’d save us both some time.”

“What, did you even prepare yourself in the time before I came home?”

Surprisingly, Byleth earns a very  _ long  _ pause.

“Oh, my god.”

“It was boring while you were away.” Linhardt reaches under the couch, touching around for a bit before raising his hand while holding a bottle of lube. “There’s some left, if you’re worried about my ass.”

Linhardt says this, as if he’s  _ really  _ willing to wait for Byleth — but the knee he has grinding against Byleth’s half-hard arousal through the front of his pants says the exact opposite. He likes to test Byleth and gauge his reactions, finding something interesting in them no matter the outcome, as if there was always something new to learn or pick apart about Byleth.

Byleth takes the bottle, setting it onto the coffee table with a sigh. “You’re unbearable sometimes, you know that?"

"You love the challenge."

Byleth refuses to answer with words, to spare himself a little of his own childish pride. Instead, he leans in to kiss Linhardt while his hands are working to unzip his pants and push them down. It's a relief to his cock, and he's a bit clumsy as he gets them off and kicks them to the floor, but if he's teased about it he'll blame it on the fact that Linhardt shows no intention of moving to a proper bed to do this tonight.

Actually, he's pretty open minded about where they have sex — and he either really doesn't have the power to give a shit, or he has one hell of a kink in the risk of it all. Which one it is, Byleth has yet to figure out. Linhardt is a mystery, even when laid bare. 

He supposes it says something that the things they’ve done don’t actually make _him_ uncomfortable either despite the situations they have nearly fallen into, but that’s something to chide himself about later.

Byleth helps Linhardt out of his sweatpants, cobalt eyes gazing over the other man’s body, hands stroking up the warm skin of his bare thighs. His body is thin and flexible, with the accents of his body having more than enough to give Byleth the hold he needs to draw him closer, closer,  **_closer_ ** –

A content sigh falls from Linhardt's lips as Byleth wraps a hand around his leaking cock, stroking it slowly to arouse him more. That collected side of him is something Byleth enjoys picking apart, even if it's not by much. He knows how much he can stall this out, how much he can push things before Linhardt starts to complain, so while Linhardt is still caught in the rhythm of his hand, Byleth lines himself up to slowly press the head of his cock inside Linhardt's entrance.

Linhardt's back arches lightly, breathing out softly as his legs spread just a bit. He looks too in his element sometimes, as if this is where he's exactly supposed to be, filled to the brim and claimed by Byleth's tongue, teeth, and hands.

Byleth wonders if he should feel as happy as he does about that.

When he bottoms out inside Linhardt, Linhardt's legs wrap around his waist, and his eyes open to gaze at Byleth with that look with those glossy, moss green eyes that's  _ so  _ unfair.

They ask Byleth to ruin him, and Byleth is far too much of an enabler now to start saying  **_no_ ** .

Byleth moves the hand from Linhardt's leaking arousal to hold his waist now, the other hand moving to comb through Linhardt's hand and grip  **_hard_ ** . It makes Linhardt breathe hard into Byleth's mouth when he leans in to kiss the other just as he makes the first snap of his hips – and  _ God _ , it feels so good. 

Linhardt tastes like cookies he ate from before, a sweetness Byleth licks into with intent to drag every breath and ounce of sugar from Linhardt's lips – and Linhardt seems to let him, invite him in, gasping and groaning softly when Byleth fucks into him just right and makes his legs spasm, his grip tighten around Byleth's neck to draw Byleth closer.

The hand on Linhardt's waist slides down, gripping his thigh, squeezing hard as he jerks Linhardt closer to meet his next thrust – and he can't deny he feels a bit of arrogant satisfaction in how Linhardt gasps his name sharply into his mouth.

"Awful," Linhardt mutters halfheartedly, biting his lip with a gasp as Byleth rams into him again.

"I could stop if you want, then." Byleth offers teasingly.

Linhardt glares at him half-heartedly, a small threat of  _ 'you better not, or else.'  _ "You know I didn't mean it that way."

"I wonder."

It's an easy invitation to banter, but Byleth doesn't give Linhardt the opportunity to actually respond. He leans in to lay claim to that still unblemished neck, nails dragging down the skin of Linhardt's thigh, and he can feel every hot moan and gasp that falls from Linhardt's lips right against his own.

"Byleth – Fuck, God,  **_fuck–_ ** "

Linhardt isn't a particularly loud person during sex. It takes a lot to break him into something like that, and Byleth has the pride of actually being able to confidently say that, but right now isn't one of those times where he wants to do that. He doesn't want to rob Linhardt of pleasure when he's been waiting so patiently, making everything so easy so they could both get lost in the hot pleasure and friction.

Linhardt's gasps grow quicker and sharper to match the pace of Byleth's thrusts that lose their consistency the closer they both get to the end. There's always a constant battle of wanting to drag this out, to be devoured by that hot warmth that sets their veins on fire, and wanting to be overwhelmed with the pleasure and the addicting buzz that comes with the aftermath.

But they have all night, and however long it is until Caspar returns. This time doesn't have to be elegant, and it certainly isn't on the couch — 

When Linhardt managed to get his hands under Byleth's sweater, Byleth isn't sure, but he knows the nails digging into his shoulders and dragging down his back feels so fucking good, and he groans into Linhardt's shoulder.

"Shit—"

He never even thought to ask if he could come inside – but then again, as they both get closer, the legs wrapped around his waist only squeeze tighter as if Linhardt is determined to keep him as close as possible. The answer is already there.

"Byleth – close,"

Byleth kisses against Linhardt's ear, the hand in his hair snaking down to wrap around his neglected cock. "Yeah, don't hold back."

Linhardt never did, but Byleth likes to encourage him, praise him, feel how he gasps and shakes at the small praises he mutters against his skin or the shell of his ear. 

Linhardt curses under his breath, letting his eyes roll to the back of his head and his head fall back as the next hard thrust mercilessly against his prostate has him seeing stars and spilling over Byleth's hand. The curve of his back as he comes is so perfect, and Byleth presses his other hand against the small of it as he chases that hot tightness around him until he's pushed over the edge after Linhardt and comes inside.

Byleth feels like his body is burning alive, panting hard as he rolls his hips to ride out the wave of pleasure, breaths softening against Linhardt's neck as he comes down from the high.

All he hears is Linhardt's breathing nearly matching his own, body slumped against the couch as if he's melting into it.

Byleth leans back to look at his face.

He looks sleepy and content.

Slowly, Linhardt grasps Byleth's wrist. He raises it to his lips, coquettishly licking away the semen drying on his fingers.

Byleth shakes his head. "You're ingesting a hell of a combination of things tonight."

Linhardt smiles in amusement around the digits in his mouth, pulling away once they're clean with a wet pop. "I'm sure there are worse things."

"I'll cook some  _ real  _ food for you." Then, after a second of thinking, Byleth adds, "Do you… want to stay with me until Caspar is back?"

Linhardt smiles, reaching up to brush his fingers up Byleth's jaw. "I think I'd like that."

Byleth reaches up to grasp that hand, squeezing to relish the warmth of it. 

He would too — quite a lot in fact.

Maybe while he's at it he'll sort out what  _ that  _ and his other thoughts actually mean while Linhardt is here.


End file.
